You hated smoking. One of your tiny friends, James, his mom was a smoker. But the closest you ever got to her smoke was her sitting you guys in her purse in the passenger seat of the car while she smoked.
Yet here your mother was using you as an awkward tiny lip masseuse on her cigarette.
As you got lost in thought about the situation, you felt your mother’s finger come up behind you and slowly rub your back. She smiled, before using her finger to squish you into her soft belly.
“Do you like how soft mommy is?” She asked.
As you lay there she stroked you, but her interest seemed focused on the television. You found her use of the word “mommy” weird. You had to admit she was soft though. And warm. And the finger stroking - almost a massage, you guessed one one good turn deserved another - was rather pleasant.
Your mother stopped stroking you, and stood you back up.
“So how do you usually spend your days?” She asked.
“I had a small house, like an apartment…”
“Ah yes, your dollhouse - it’s being delivered sometime this week,” she interrupted.
“Right. And it’s full of the same amenities regular sized people have. I can get WiFi, play games, watch Netflix, etc.”
“Now why would you want to waste your days in a dollhouse when you could spend them with dear old mom?” She laughed, placing you onto the filter of a fresh cigarette.
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